Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
by Lady Paprika
Summary: The story of a man who, quite simply, didn't want to be God. He just wanted to be human. Too bad that's one thing a doctor will never get in his world. Part of CEObrainz's, "Everybody's Brawl." Re uploaded for no good reason. Personal gain, maybe? Rated for heavy themes.


**A/N: Does this look familiar? Yeah, it probably does if you follow CEObrainz's _Everybody's Brawl_ which is a huuuge project involving a bunch of authors writing for different Smashers and their process into being indicted to Brawl. So you're probably wondering why I'm reposting this on my profile... Well here's my explanation:**

**I had the honor of writing for two Smashers - Captain Falcon and Dr. Mario. I still love both of these characters and what I did with them, but Dr. Mario's was a major turning point for me. I actually spent _time_ on his and writing suddenly became _hard._ **

**Which is weird because before I wrote his chapter, I never really struggled through ideas and writing. It was just really easy for me to churn out a chapter or a one-shot. But Dr. Mario's was one I really wanted to think through because doctors in general are people who are often regarded with the highest respect, almost untouchable. They even hold themselves in this manner because they deserve it. You've got to have a ton of drive and brains to get into such a competitive field and it isn't easy even after you've crossed the finish line.**

**But sometimes people forget that they're human too. Which means they're not perfect. Which means they're really not God.**

**So that's where this idea came from. Sadly, Dr. Mario will not be making a reappearance in _Everybody's Brawl_ because he wasn't really a part of Brawl. But does he have a happy ending? That's up to you to decide!  
**

**Anyway, I haven't touched anything here except for a couple of grammar/spelling/punctuation edits. If you'd like to see more about this idea, then by all means, go to CEObrainz to take a look at some of your favorite authors or favorite Smashers being portrayed by some pretty cool people!**

**Sorry for the looong A/N and thanks to everybody who's read this already and to those who are reading right now! Special thanks also to MessengerOfDreams who actually gave me the idea to post this separately and of course, the biggest of thanks to CEObrainz who has so graciously let me do this even though this is technically part of his work. You all rawk!**

* * *

**_Dr Mario - Melee_**

**_By MissGlimmer_**

* * *

_"Tell me..."_

It's said hesitantly, slowly, as if she's treading dangerous waters. Maybe she sees something nobody else can see. Or maybe it's because nobody chooses to see it. But she's caught it, even though we hardly know each other. Her words keep replaying over and over since she's said them, a mantra, a nightmare.

* * *

To a lot of people, I'm just The Doctor. No, not The Doctor from _Dr. Who_. Mostly, my patients refer to me as, "the doctor" or simply, "Doc."

But my full title is Doctor Mario. Is there a last name? If there is, everybody chooses not to use it. Let me put it this way; does God have a last name? No? Then why should I?

I don't say this to be arrogant. Because to a lot of people I am God. Most doctors are. I can produce death sentences or I can save lives. Isn't that what God does? Families of the deceased (Or those that will die) curse me unconsciously. Families of those that I've "saved" praise me, tell me I'm a miracle worker.

I'm a miracle worker because I can diagnose, cut somebody open, and then do a whipple stitch and make it eventually look like it never happened. Understand what's happening, get in, do my business, close it up. Perfect. That's who I am. God.

The hospital I work in is one of the more higher-class ones. But despite its best efforts, the place with its polished, contemporary look, fails to mask the smell of disinfect and there's also the ever present lingering smell that only a hospital can have. You know the one, it smells like medicine and an expired, close shave with death. Walking down the linoleum floor is something I've done for years at this place. I've seen it undergo many renovations that makes it the giant hospital that it is.

Today is especially grim. The clouds are unbelievably bleak though everybody indoors is particularly cheerful. This is a front; Cheerfulness in the hospital means our mortality rate for the day is in danger of going above average. It's a policy here, designed by our owner, Bowser Koopa, to up the dosage of optimism and positivity whenever we sense danger. It's pretty stupid in my opinion, but I don't argue with his policies. Opening my mouth could land me perpetual unemployment. Bowser's got enough power to make sure I never cut open a person again if I go against him.

"Hey Dr. Mario, got a second?" I don't slow my pace.

"I don't know, is it really a second?" I ask carelessly. I know the voice, which is why I don't bother with the empathetic, kind voice. I reserve that voice to strangers, more specifically my patients with their mountain of infinite questions.

Dr. Luigi, my brother, hurries along to catch up to me. It's mildly amazing how even though he's half a foot taller than me he still can't keep up with my quick pace.

"There's a patient in 223 in the Oncology ward. Could you step in to check up on her? She's asking for you."

Of course she is. They all are. Doctor Mario, the one who takes on the riskiest cases and yet has the lowest mortality rate in the hospital.

"What makes her any different from the rest of the patients that ask for me?" I ask, the words slipping out more monotonously than I intended.

Luigi goes still and begins to shake at the same time. "What do you mean any different?" he hisses. His blue eyes show contempt. Every time he addresses me, it's filled with contempt. I know why of course, understand it even if I can't feel it. It's jealousy. You see, Luigi's a good doctor. He might even be a _great_ doctor.

But he isn't me. And once people figure out that, oh he's not Dr. Mario? Then they're uninterested. Understandable that he hates me. But I hardly care. Jealousy is a great way to amp his ambition. Luigi's a really good doctor because of me. Because he's always trying to compete with me to become the best. If that makes him able to perform at his best then so be it. At least he's got drive, but I don't need drive to be better than him.

"Patients come to me all the time, brother," I say stopping at my office. I turn to face him and stare up at his lean face.

"Yes, and _this _one is going to die," he says with as much anger as he can muster. He's trying to scare me into feeling something, which puzzles me. He must really want me to visit her.

I blink at him, failing to understand how that makes any difference. "Everybody dies someday."

He slams a fist into the wall, his frustration apparent.

_"Tell me, doctor..."_

Sometimes, I wonder if there's something I'm missing. I wonder it all the time, mostly during the long hours of doing my rounds when I am half delirious from the lack of sleep. But I especially wonder it right now, looking at Luigi who is shaking with rage and something else that I've seen written all over families who have just been told that the patient won't make it to Christmas. It's like watching these people through a veil. Hopelessness. Despair. I'm pretty sure I might have experienced it before, but I've trained myself to forget it. Better to forget, than to live with the pain.

I wait, carefully noting the fact that he's punched the wall with much more vigor than I thought. The skin around his middle knuckles have split, so he's sucking the blood off of it, pain blossoming onto his face.

A cool female voice in the background says, "Dr. Bones, Radiology Department. Dr. Bones, Radiology Department." I wait some more, hardly acknowledging the fact that the PA being used for Dr. Dry Bones means that he's in deep trouble.

"Dammit, Mario," he whispers, finally breaking the silence.

"Why are you so emotionally invested in this patient?" I ask, mild curiosity taking over. I beckon him into my office and he follows. I take his hand and begin to bandage it up. Nothing appears to be broken which is a good thing since Luigi, being a cardiothoracic surgeon (The head of his department to boot), needs his hands fully functioning. It's a precise craft and one twitch of the hand could set an operation back a couple of precious hours.

Luigi's blue eyes stare at mine, no longer full of pain, but instead full of frustration. "The question shouldn't be why am I so emotionally invested," he says, slowly as if he's still thinking of how to say his next words. I can still detect a hint of something heated in his voice. "The question is why aren't _you?_ For heaven's sake, you're a doctor!"

My hands still on his, halfway done applying the gauze.

_"Tell me, doctor. Do you...?"_

No, no. I'm not having this discussion. Not with Luigi, not with _anyone_.

But I notice that his voice sounds patronizing. Luigi is patronizing _me_. I've never heard anyone use that sort of tone with me. It's been decades since even our parents have used it. I was probably twelve the last time our mother did.

"Well answer me!" Luigi demands.

What can I say without sounding like a complete jackass? I decide on giving him the partial truth. "I prefer not having any sort of emotional relationship with a patient. It hampers my ability to do my best. You should know that, Luigi. It's one of the basic lessons they teach in medical school. One of the first." I recite it as if I have a textbook right in front of me.

Luigi snatches his hand from mine, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "To have no emotional relationship with the patient is one thing, Mario. But you go far beyond that. It's like you're an empty shell that exists only for cutting up people. If you can't even feel for humanity, then why would you want to save it? Do you even care?"

I do. Or I did one time. Nearly twelve years of tough schooling proves that I have to care, right? Maybe.

I pause to give him the impression that his words have sunk in. I suck in a breath, then let it out. Better to think that he's right, than to give him the impression that I'm totally heartless. I study his face carefully. Maybe it's too late. His face is a mixture of horror and weariness. Like he understands that he can't penetrate through my apparent "shell." He probably thinks nobody can.

I check my landline to see if there are any impending messages, and my pager, even though nobody uses those nowadays. I'm not needed unfortunately, and my next surgery (to remove a tumor in the pancreas) isn't for another three hours.

I sigh. "Oh all right," I say without a trace of enthusiasm. "I'll go now."

Luigi visibly perks up. He stands up to hug me, and I just barely return it. For appearances, of course.

I make my way down to Oncology, the cheeriest place of the hospital, and also one of the most depressing. The nurses here wear vibrantly colored scrubs, there's always a birthday or something to celebrate down here. But with all the celebrations, there are also people who, when you look past the enthusiasm, see that sense of reluctant acceptance towards the inevitable. In Oncology, nobody addresses the future. Why hold off for tomorrow what you can do today? The underlying statement to this is of course, tomorrow we will probably die. And if not tomorrow, then certainly within the year. Time has never been more precious if you know when your expiry date is.

I loathe being in this ward because it reeks of death most strongly here. And many of the doctors here remind me of... well me. That lethargic gait in their movements, the way their eyes always manage not to catch those of the patient's once they've read the file. Or if they do, they're not _really_ seeing the patient. This is mostly by design. You can tell that these are the veterans. The freshmen are the ones who smile in empathy and look to the patients kindly. The older ones do no such thing because they no longer have any left to give.

Two-hundred-twenty-three is a posh little suite reserved for the wealthy. Not very interesting to me. All the rich ones think they can buy me off. I don't bother to read the name on the door, but I wish I did, because a second later my gaze meets the most bluest eyes and my thoughts screech to a halt.

"Peach?" I'd like to say that I only simply questioned it but I actually whispered it.

A second glance reveals it's not Peach. Of course it isn't, how could it be? This woman, who is lying neatly on the hospital bed seems older, her eyes are a shade paler than Peach's and look more almond-like and are more solemn, mature than Peach's. Her hair is more a silvery sheen of blond than Peach's cheerful, summer yellow.

_"Tell me, doctor. Do you ever...?"_

The woman's eyes seem creakily amused, like she hasn't felt amused in a long time. "I'm afraid not. Peach is dead, doctor. Remember?"

It surprises me she knows who Peach is. But then, who doesn't know about her? And she's quite right of course. Peach _is_ dead.

I killed her. I hardly knew her, but that didn't stop me from relaying her time of death. Seventeen hours, twenty-three minutes.

"Who are you?" I demand, breaking away from my thoughts. I've got to. This is as close as I'm going to get to think about that situation.

A lock of blond hair falls over one eye giving her an even more solemn look. "My name is Rosalina. Peach is... or was my younger sister." Her voice is surprisingly soft, motherly. Hard to believe.

I think back to Peach's incessant chatter, wonder if she'd ever mentioned a sister. But before I can drag the memories out, Rosalina's speaking again.

"You're trying to remember if she ever told you I existed? Don't bother. She didn't know about me until the very end. We were separated by birth," she explains. I wait for her to offer more information but she doesn't.

"So why are you here?" I ask.

Rosalina turns away from me and stares at the ceiling instead. "They told me you were smart," she says, her mouth looking as though it wants to give a rueful smile. Then she gestures at the comfortable suite, painted a pale turquoise. "I'm here, which means that I..." she trails off, expecting me to answer.

I flush at being treated like a dunce. "I know you have cancer," I say, striving to keep my tone patient, calm. "But what kind? And why did you ask for me specifically?" I want to ask why Luigi wanted me to see her so badly. But I don't.

She examines her fingers, long pale things. "I didn't ask you to cure me, if that's what you're asking, doctor. I know I'm going to die. I have it in the uterus, and it's spread everywhere." She says it confidently, like she doesn't really care, which surprises me. I can tell her confidence is not a front. She sits up straight, swinging her long legs over the bed so that they reach the floor. She's quite tall. "You might be able to perform a miracle, but I'm not really interested in being alive anymore." She fixes me with a penetrating stare. "Life hasn't been very kind towards me."

"Then what _are_ you here for?"

"I'm here for _you_."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Rosalina closes her eyes, smiles a little. The hospital gown crinkles when she reaches to tuck the hair that's fallen in front of her eye, over her ear. "Oh Mario," she sighs, suddenly letting her walls come down. "Make this easy for me." She pauses, wets her lips. Tries again.

"I grew up away from Peach's life. The reason was because my father instantly fell in love with Peach upon seeing her. She was so cheerful and I... well I wasn't. He decided right away, that she would be heir to his vast oil companies. I, even though I was first born, would be the backup, should anything happen to dear old Peachie. To protect Peach's delicate heart and mind, he never even told her about me, fearing that if he did, she would hate him or give her inheritance to me. But I always knew about her, living away in seclusion. I knew until her dying day." She says this all with a rasp of sarcasm. I couldn't help thinking that Rosalina was the one person who wasn't drawn in by Peach's charms. I knew that Peach was the heiress to the Toadstool Oil Companies, the second largest company after Koopa Corp, the technology firm, but I hadn't known that her father had calculated such an unfair move. I feel a twinge of reluctant pity for the woman on the bed.

"I tried hard to resent Peach, but learning more about her, it was hard to do so. She was just too damn _good_. You know, all chatty, and smiles and _very_ naive about the people around her. She expected others to be as nice as her..." she pauses again, wets her lips. Then she says, "What fascinated me the most though, was learning that her greatest conquest was that she captured your interest."

"What?" I ask. Uh oh.

Her lips look like they're about to curve into a sly smile, but they don't. "Don't act like you fail to understand."

_"Tell me, doctor. Do you ever dream?"_

I do know, even though I only knew Peach for about a month before her death. She'd been bald and colorless, shrinking, by then, courtesy of the chemotherapy. To put it bluntly, she was unattractive to the human eye. Not to me though. Never to me. She still radiated warmth and pureness when I saw her, even then.

When I first saw her, the first thing she'd asked me was, "Tell me, doctor. Do you ever dream?" As if she was the dream herself. Awhile later I learned her name. It was enough to spark a curiosity, then a series of conversations that eventually turned into desperation to try and save her life. I broke the rule, a week in and cared too much about her. As a result I gambled away the last couple weeks of her life in a bid to save her. She died on my operating table, when my fingers grew too thick and clumsy and I accidentally punctured a lung (A lung! Who does that?), causing her to drown in her own blood, because I couldn't stop the bleeding in time. I can still hear the heart monitor going flat, while I repeatedly tried to resuscitate her. Literally pressed at her dead heart with the defibrillator. In the end, I had to be dragged away. I was drenched in her blood. Seventeen hours, twenty-three minutes.

I never told Luigi. It was too close, too personal for even my own brother. What I felt to Peach, was it one-sided? Probably. Was it love? I don't know if it was. Maybe it could have been, if I knew her longer.

I never told her that she was probably my only source of warmth. It would have been stupid. To her, I was only her doctor. But to me, she was the only woman who asked that question. "Tell me, doctor. Do you ever dream?"

I never answered her question. I never got the opportunity to.

Rosalina's eyes are softer now as she studies me. "Don't you ever get tired of suppressing it?"

I do. Ever since that incident, I swore to cut myself off from anyone. There was no way I was going to be hurt that way ever again. With that decision, I became one of the best doctors in the world. But I wasn't about to tell Rosalina that.

When she realizes that I'm not going to respond, she sighs. "The reason I came here is sitting on the bedside table. Take it. It's yours. But open it when you are alone."

I don't have the strength to muster up any sort of curiosity, but I do pick up the envelope that's lying there. As I leave the room wordlessly, she calls out, "Good luck, doctor. You too, deserve happiness."

Rosalina isn't Peach at all, but I still feel vulnerable around her too, as if she _gets_ me. As if I'm not just God, but human too, a person worth conversing with. When I get to my office, Luigi is nowhere to be found. I pause to consider whether or not he knew about Peach. Was that why he wanted me to go see Rosalina so bad? But no, I shake my head. There is no way Luigi cares that much about me. No way he studies me that closely. Could he?

Nobody knew how I felt about Peach except the anesthesiologist, the nurses, and the attendings at hand the day she died. And apparently Rosalina. How had she known?

It doesn't matter. She probably paid one of the people in the operating room that day to spill the beans. I frown. Carelessly, I rip the envelope open. There's a sheet of paper. A letter. In Peach's handwriting. My pulse quickens. But it's not addressed to me.

_Dear Rosalina,_

_You may think it's weird that I'm writing to you, especially since you probably hate me. Yes, I do know you exist. Father told me all about you, when I told him I wouldn't get better. But you needn't hate me for much longer. Like I said, I'm dying from an aggressive form of ovarian cancer that's spread everywhere else. This means you get to be the heiress to everything I will be leaving behind. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I knew I wouldn't have made a great businesswoman anyway._

_The hospital I'm in is great. Everybody here is kind. My closest friend here is Nurse Daisy. She takes my mind off of dying, which I confess is what I think about a lot. I'm thinking about leaving some of my inheritance to her in my will, but I know she wouldn't accept it. She's too stubborn to accept anything she hasn't earned. I'll do it anyway._

_But I'm not writing to you to tell you about Daisy. I'm writing to you for two things. First, that I hope you can forgive me for taking away everything you wanted. I know I should have found out about you earlier. I can't believe I never knew about you._

_And secondly, because of my doctor._

_Doctor Mario is one of the greatest surgeons to ever exist. He was quite intimidating when I met him first, but I've gotten to know him better since and I must admit he's been very kind to me. I want you to help him. Weird, isn't it? Me asking you for help when I'm not supposed to even know about you! Who else can I entrust this to, but my own sister? You don't have to help me, but I'm begging you to do it. Call it my last wish._

_I want to save him. In a way, Doctor Mario is also dying, and I think it's because he's married to his work. I've tried to cure him, but I don't think I've made much progress. There's something damaged about him, and I think it has everything to do with this hospital. You'll see what I mean when you actually meet him. I want you to give him the contents of what I've attached to this envelope. Do that for me will you?_

_I wish we could have spent more time together. But maybe I can. Maybe I can watch over you in the afterlife. I've never been religious, but maybe there's hope that we can truly be sisters in another lifetime..._

_Love,_

_Peach_

I've never been a crier (Shocker, I know), so this letter doesn't make me shed tears. But something inside me stirs with the familiarity of Peach. For a moment, I can almost smell her.

I reach inside the envelope. There is a card, one of those Hallmark kind, that says, "Open Me To Pursue Your Dreams". Underneath there's a picture of a gloved hand that's positioned into a beckoning pose. Its index finger curls inwardly, prompting the reader to open the card. Somehow, there's something sinister in that pose. It looks like a trap. I'm about to throw the card down, but then I stop.

It's Peach. Peach wanted me to have this. I can't just throw it away. She wouldn't give me something awful, something terrorizing.

What if she didn't know that it was bad though?

I mentally slap myself. It's just a card, Dr. Mario. Pull it together. Maybe there's something inside. A ticket to Luma World or some other theme park since I'm apparently married to my work. I'll never know unless I open it.

So I take a deep breath, open the card and there's a flash. I instinctively close my eyes and throw my hands up to cover my face as a loud bang sounds. I yell in surprise and throw myself backward to protect myself.

I land against the wall, slowly lowering my arms, and stare at what's in front of me in bewilderment.

It's a wooden door, standing upright. Etched on the door are the words in a curlicue font, "An Adventure Awaits."

I stare, not believing my eyes. The door defies the laws of physics, of anything normal. I'm mystified, but more importantly, I'm fascinated. It can't be magic. Magic doesn't exist. A strong sense of curiosity envelops me as I study the door that stands there, begging to be opened.

When was the last time I felt anything? Suddenly, in the past ten minutes, I've felt sadness, fear, surprise, intrigue and now fascination. Curiosity.

There's a knock at the door, the one that opens to my office, but I ignore it. My main focus is on this strange door. How did it get here? And more importantly what will happen when I open it?

Tentatively, I take a step forward and I grasp the door knob. Its brass handle is strangely warm, as if somebody had been holding it for a very long time.

There's another persistent knock. "Mario, are you in there?" Luigi. Of course. He can wait.

I wrench the door open and glance inside. This is surreal. It seems like it leads into a place very different from our place. There's grass everywhere, all an evenly coated vibrant shade of green. Up ahead there's a building that reads, "Registry for Smashers."

What is a Smasher? The term flummoxes me, as I peer around the door. But all that's on the other side is just my desk with charts piled high on it.

Smasher. I focus in at the new place inside the door. I've never heard the word before, but there's something about it that prickles the back of my neck.

_"Tell me, doctor. Do you ever dream?"_

The statement echoes in my head and suddenly it no longer feels like a nightmare. I take a step into this new area, this impossible place, closing my eyes. It's a blind step into the unknown and when I turn around to see if I can go back there is no more door. It's vanished.

I turn back towards the building. There are a million questions in my head. This has been the most strangest day of my life so far, but I walk anyway towards it.

However as I approach the area I realize something is drifting towards me. What is it? A large, white creature of some sort, with many appendages attached to it. It looks like a giant hand... no wait... _is _it a giant hand?

I've officially lost it, I think, as I watch it cruise to a stop next to me. The hand is at least four times my size. There is no face, but I can tell that this hand... thing... is extremely clever. And then, a disembodied voice clears its throat.

Though it goes against my medical training and studies (As everything has these past few minutes) I'm forced to conclude that voice is coming from the hand. "Er... did you wish to say something?" I ask politely, my mind reeling. I have to wonder whether or not Peach foresaw all the weird elements concerning this place before she sent me here.

"You _do_ look like him," the hand mumbles to itself. "But this attire is all wrong..."

I look down at my doctor's coat, the stethoscope that I hadn't bothered to take off from my neck and lastly to the band wrapped around my head.

"Excuse me, but look like who?" I ask in a tiny voice, for the hand does make me feel scared.

The hand seems to realize it's talking to itself and says quickly, "Oh! I'm sorry, this is rude of me. I should introduce myself. I'm Master Hand, co-owner to Super Smash Brothers."

"What is Super Smash Brothers?"

"It's an event where the most prized fighters of the universe fight in a friendly melee, or brawl. But," he adds, and now it sounds like he's frowning in confusion. "But you don't look like a fighter... what did you say your name was?"

"I'm Dr. Mario, and you're right," I respond quickly. "I'm not a fighter. I'm a doctor..."

"I knew you weren't the right one!" Master Hand says a little too excitedly, and I have to wonder what he means by that. There is, after all, only one Dr. Mario, right?

_Peach, what were you thinking, sending me here?_ But as I look around the area, I'm quite pleased at my surroundings. My eyes have been opened to a new world that doesn't just involve scalpels, EEGs and antidepressants. A world that doesn't only revolve around death, money and prestige. There's something here that I can feel, something I haven't felt in awhile. It's exciting and new, but I know I've felt it before.

I don't think I've ever felt this alive. Just as I think this Master Hand says, "It must be my brother's mistake. Must have gotten the wrong Mario. Crazy Hand can be such a pain. You can return to your own world now."

I stare at the giant gloved hand, and fold my arms across my chest defiantly. No way am I leaving just yet. I still don't know what he means by, "the wrong Mario" but I could always figure that out later. "I'm not going back there," I say, holding my ground.

Master Hand freezes at my tone of voice. "Why not?" he demands. "You have a life there don't you?"

It's this statement that I realize what I'm feeling, this exciting, new yet familiar feeling. It's _life_. I shake my head. "I can't live there anymore. Please," I say, doing something else that I haven't done in a long time; beg. "Let me stay here."

The hand just floats there, considering. Then he says, "Fine, it's not like I own this place. Do what you want here, but I must tell you that I cannot admit you to participate in the tournament. There's already another person much like you there who has agreed to participate and it would be simply unfair to include a different version of him."

Once again, I don't understand what he means. But I hardly care. I was never much of a fighter anyway. "Thank you," I say, a hint of gratitude touching my voice. What a day of firsts.

As Master Hand leaves, after acknowledging my thanks, I think about what being a doctor meant back at home and what it entailed. For the longest time, I thought that it meant a process that stripped away your life in the process of saving, or prolonging others' lives.

But it shouldn't be that way at all. I turn away from the building, and start down a different path. I'm not sure where that path leads, but it has to be somewhere, right?

As long as I'm going somewhere new, somewhere with life, I guess I'll be always be pursuing my dreams.

Whatever that is.

* * *

**NOTE: I wrote this in the mind that Dr. Mario is living in a different dimension. So in a sense, he's a different form of Mario, living in a parallel universe sort of thing. It seemed most fitting that he wouldn't know his more famous counterpart by living in a dimension that hardly believes in magic. The world he lives in is more like ours and less like Mario's, with the same characters and some familiar elements (Koopa Corp. etc.)**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed, and please don't forget to check out the rest of the chapters on this fic!**

* * *

**A/N now: So yeah. Strange to see how my writing style's changed since I first uploaded this. Oh, somebody asked who I based this off of because apparently Dr. Mario sounds a lot like Dr. House from_ House_ which I'll admit, have not watched a lot, but I have watched a couple of episodes and think it's an excellent show. I did somewhat base Mario off House in terms of his brilliance but part of his characterization is also based off somebody I know in real life.**

**Anyway, thanks for the read and the SUPER long A/N's that I made you read through. Sorry. XD**

**Anyway, I'd really appreciate feedback, so please place a review on the way out! Thank you!**


End file.
